


London's Burning

by mentosmorii



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz, Artemis Fowl - Eoin Colfer
Genre: Art Theft, Espionage, Gen, M/M, yeah the title is that one song by The Clash oof
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 14:25:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18593095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mentosmorii/pseuds/mentosmorii
Summary: "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a spy in possession of a boring mission, must be in want of some excitement." — Jane Austin, sort ofM16 knows that there's something very valuable concealed within the walls of the British Museum, and Alex is tasked with casing the museum until the British government is able to discern exactly what and where this object of interest is. It's a simple mission — almost a vacation, really.It's a pity that Alex is about to discover that things can never remain simple when Artemis is involved.





	London's Burning

British museums had the funny tendency of being filled with quite a few things that were decidedly not British in origin. Was it stealing to take something from the people that had nicked it in the first place? Mulch didn’t think so. Although, it didn’t matter in the end whether there was a moral justification for stealing — Mulch appreciated the finer things in life, regardless of if they were his for the taking or not. As much as he’d enjoyed pretending to give tear-filled interviews detailing his descent into a life of crime during his long stints of solitary in jail (spontaneous sabbaticals was what he’d taken to calling it), the truth was that there was no tragedy behind his choice in profession.

He liked to take things from people, and people did _not_ appreciate that.

Thankfully, it seemed as though the LEP had finally begun to understand that at the end of the day, Mulch was going to be who he was. And frankly, he was doing a public service, if you thought about it. Mulch was sure that he’d read somewhere that it was better for your mental health to be less materialistic, so it was quite selfless of him to treat people to his surprise decluttering sessions.

However, although Mulch had jumped at the chance to engage in LEP-sanctioned larceny, it was beginning to look like the LEP had sucked all the fun out of stealing. Figures, he thought glumly, staring out at the British Museum as the final few workers trickled through the tall, marble support columns by the entrance.

He tapped his mic. “When does everyone go home?” he hissed, glancing at the setting sun.

Over the communication line, Holly sighed. She was starting to understand why Foaly was going prematurely grey.

“Mulch,” her impatient voice filtered over the comm link. “I’ve told you this no less than three times. We _think_ everyone should be out of the building by 8, but we’re not sure.”

The dwarf huffed. “Holly, you’re my eyes in the sky. My guardian angel, if you will. My hide is in your hands right now. I’d prefer if you took my safety a little more seriously.”

The mic crackled to life. “Go bother Fowl, will you?”

Mulch turned to look at his compatriot in the shuttle. The alleyway Mulch had backed the ship into meant that they were sitting in the shade, making the shadows on Artemis’ face give the Irish teen a gaunt appearance. He was currently engrossed in tapping away at his PC, his face expressionless.

“Hey,” Mulch called out. “Artemis.”

Artemis sighed, lowering the screen of his laptop slightly. “I heard what Holly said. Ignore her, please. I’m finishing up my research for the case — a fact you ought to care about considering how you’ve been acting like we’re being sent off to fight on the front lines.”

Diggums turned away from Artemis, rummaging around the front of the ship for something to eat. “Of what?”

The typing stopped. “Pardon?”

Mulch let out a crow of success as his hand found a packet of crisps he’d dropped underneath the space between the seats. Tearing it open in glee, he popped a handful in his mouth. Stale, he thought, but not bad.

“You said ‘front lines’, Arty. Front lines of what?” Mulch chewed, settling down in the pilot's seat at the front of the shuttle.

Artemis boggled. “It’s… just a figure of speech.”

“I’ve heard of it. I just meant you know, are we going off to fight in the trenches, or is this more along the lines of when the Australians went off to fight against the emus back in the 30s? I just want to know so I can get properly into character.”

Holly’s voice came over the comm link. “Mulch, if you so much as  _look_ at a human in that museum, so help me Frond,” she warned him.

Mulch opened his mouth.

“ _O_ _ther_ than Artemis, Mulch,” Holly amended quickly, sensing Mulch was gearing up to exploit the loophole in her command.

Mulch closed his mouth.

 

* * *

The upper floor of the British Museum was suffocatingly quiet. The bone-white marble stretched on in every visible direction, and Alex got the unnerving feeling that he was inside of a cavernous mausoleum. He rubbed his elbow, trying to get out as much nervous energy as possible without disturbing the silence.

According to Blunt, tonight was going to be one of the easiest missions he would ever have the pleasure of getting. Which, of course, meant that Alex was more on edge than he’d been in a long time. He’d prefer to see the headlights of an oncoming train and know that he was screwed, than to see light and assume he was approaching the end of the tunnel. After all, Harry Houdini took hundreds of blows to the stomach during shows over his life, but it was the one he could not steel himself for that killed him.

He reached for his belt, the tension in his shoulders fading somewhat when he felt the cool metal of the flashlight at his hip. He unclipped it from the holster, turning it over in his hand as he inspected it. It was surprisingly low tech for Smithers. Barely perceptible, there was a small, pinprick-sized hole in the reinforced sapphire glass of the flashlight’s head. It was just _barely_ big enough for the hypodermic needle to pop out of if the right button was pressed. Despite the weapons department’s best efforts, he could feel the slight shifting of the device’s weight as the liquid sedative stored within the cavity behind the working LED lights sloshed about as he tested its balance in his hand. As far as he knew, it was single use. He grimaced, looping it back onto its place on his belt. He’d find out soon the extent of how useful it was.

Mrs. Jones had shoved the file for the case at him after he’d skulked out of Blunt’s office earlier that afternoon. He remembered raising an eyebrow as he flipped through the papers.

“You want me to take over for a guard at the British Museum?” he’d questioned, voice low.

Mrs. Jones had sighed, primly popping another mint into her mouth. “The mission isn’t as exciting as you’re used to, I’m afraid.”

“I’m fine with that, actually,” he’d said under his breath, flipping the file shut and presenting it for her to take back. She held up a hand, refusing.

“You’ll be stationed outside of room 46. We’ve been trawling through reconnaissance reports detailing that there are various agencies that have their eye on _something_ from that exhibit.”

Alex had laughed. “The old European art wing?”

Mrs. Jones had shot him a disapproving look. “Yes.”

He’d awkwardly put a hand on the nape of his neck. “Oh, okay. D’you know what everyone is looking for in the museum, or…?”

For some reason, the memory of the frown lines deepening around Mrs. Jones’ mouth was startlingly clear in his mind. “No.”

“Am I going to be working the job for a while, then?”

“I went over this in your case file,” she’d whacked him on the shoulder.

“I was going to read over it on my ride over, Mrs. Jones, really!” he’d huffed, rubbing his arm.

At that, she had softened slightly. “Alright, Alex. And to answer your earlier question, I don’t think you’ll be there for more than a night or two. We just need someone to watch over the exhibit until we can be reasonably sure what it is that they want, at which point we’ll extract you and take the object of interest back to M16 for safe keeping.”

That had been a good seven hours ago.

Now, Alex was alone to wander the dimly lit halls of the upper floor, watching and waiting for a sign that he wasn’t by himself in the darkness.

 

* * *

Artemis massaged his temples wearily, the hours of staring into the blue light making spots appear behind his eyelids when he closed his eyes. He reached over for the dropped comm link that Mulch had left on the seat.

“Holly,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Are you there?”

“I see you’re getting more prone to asking pointless questions as you get older, Fowl,” Mulch’s voice sounded from the front of the ship, muffled slightly by the fact he was undoubtedly eating something. “If she’s there, she’ll say so. If she’s not, you won’t hear anything. Simple as that.”

“Please try to prepare at least a bit, Mulch,” Artemis sighed, deftly adjusting the switches on the comm link. Perhaps had he not been born into the Fowl lineage, he mused as he fiddled with an exposed wire delicately, he could have had a career as a pianist.

“I’m a professional burglar. Overthinking this could impact my mojo negatively. I’m preparing by staying cool as a cucumber over here,” Mulch called back, and Artemis could hear the dull thud of the dwarf putting his feet up on the dash. “Let’s talk about something else.”

Artemis continued to work on the communicator. “Fine. What would you like to talk about?”

From the front of the ship came Diggums’ disembodied sigh. “‘Dunno. How was your day?”

“Fine,” Artemis intoned, already starting the process of actively tuning Diggums out. He pressed the on button. Nothing happened. He grimaced.

“We’re going to seriously need to work on your conversation skills.” Mulch complained.

At that, Artemis looked up for a moment to shoot Mulch a look. “What for?”

“Are you kidding me?” Mulch craned his head around the divider to look at Artemis. “What _don’t_ you need them for? Don’t answer that, by the way. It was a rhetorical question,” he added.

“Friends, girlfriends, boyfriends, partners — you need to be able to entertain your audience, Artemis,” Mulch said, jabbing a finger at Artemis. “And right now? You’re floundering. I would give you a failing grade for the past thirty seconds of this conversation alone. Whatever the opposite of having game is, that’s where you’re at, I’d reckon.”

Finally, the receiver on the communication device spluttered to life, beeping and whirring defiantly.

“You’ve spent the last 50 odd years in and out of jail, Diggums. I wouldn’t put much merit in your advice on anything, really,” Holly’s disembodied voice came over the comm link. “And I heard you put your feet on the dash — knock it off. This is one of the first shuttles I used for an above ground mission. She’s like my baby.”

Mulch let out a noncommittal grunt, turning to plop back down in his seat. “I won’t apologize for my mistakes. I’ve lived and learned. Thanks to those 50 years in the big house, you’re lucky enough to have the best version of Mulch Diggums there is. I’ll be in and out tonight like a ghost, Short, just you wait.”

A sigh sounded across the call. “Artemis, I’m officially deputizing you to be the senior thief on the mission.”

Mulch made a face. “Ooh, making up an unjust hierarchy to put me down, are we, Holly? I’m a rogue agent, anyway — the fact I’ve been so wrongfully put at the bottom of this team’s social pyramid means nothing to my anarchist sensibilities.”

“Mulch! I called Holly for a reason,” Artemis admonished, moving the receiver so that it was facing away from the front of the ship. “The office workers have cleared out by now. I think we should go inside soon.”

There was a pregnant pause. “Oh. I thought you’d want to wait for at least another thirty minutes.”

Artemis sighed. “I know. But I do not like the fact that you found multiple human organizations expressing interest in acquiring possession of the power cell.”

“They didn’t all _explicitly_ say they wanted the power cell. I would bet that the higher-ups of Solntsevskaya Bratva know that there is a power cell, followed by the CIA, who know that Russia is interested in developing a weapon from something on the premises, followed by France’s DGSE, who are vaguely aware that America is casing the building. As for the other groups,” Artemis heard Holly sigh. “The most they know is that a great deal of powerful people have decided to put their stake in watching the museum. It’s a game of telephone where everyone is vaguely aware that the rest of the room is playing, but no one other than a handful of people have a message that’s even the least bit intelligible.”

“Yet no one wants to be left out.”

“Exactly,” Short snorted. “But at the same time, everyone is waiting for another organization or government to make the first move. We have the advantage of not being caught in this stalemate by human treaties or politics. At risk of sounding like a hypocrite, I genuinely believe we have all the more to lose by rushing in than we do by waiting a few more hours.”

Artemis rolled his shoulders, trying to get the crick out. They’d been waiting for so long, he pursed his lips, surely a bit longer couldn’t do any more damage to his back than had already been done. As much as he’d initially been tickled by the fact that the shuttle made him seem much taller than he was, the novelty had worn off about ninety minutes ago once the extended period of slouching had begun to take its toll.

“We’ll follow your call,” he replied, glancing at Mulch before the dwarf could argue with Holly. “However, I’d ask that you tell me one thing about the groups investigating the British Museum.”

“Sure, shoot,” Holly yawned slightly, the noise making the static on the call increase.

Artemis steepled his fingers despite the fact that the captain could not see him. Mulch rolled his eyes. “Is the NSU involved?”

“Let me see,” Holly said, the sound of tapping keys echoing over the link. “Oh, yeah, your guys have been looking into this for at _least_ a month now.”

Artemis grinned. “Good for us! I really do think Irish Intelligence needs to be more active in these types of clandestine plots. One wouldn’t want to get left behind in world politics and whatnot. It is important to be a team player in these kinds of things.”

“What, the unsanctioned clashing between world powers?” she teased.

“Obviously.”

A groan wafted from the front of the shuttle, and Artemis started. Mulch popped his head around the divider, pulling a duffle bag with him.

“The two of you are ruining my pre-crime buzz,” he grunted in response to Artemis’ quizzical look. “All this talk of crime rings and espionage is making me stress-pack my gear for tonight.”

“Do… you want me to apologize for getting you to take the mission seriously?” Artemis boggled.

Mulch dropped the bag, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation. “Yes, clearly! Nothing offends my delicate sensibilities more than the feeling of responsibility.”

“Oh,” Artemis blinked, thinking for a moment. “I don’t think I shall apologize for that.”

Reaching for the bag again, Mulch grit his teeth. “For your sake and mine, I hope we’re leaving the shuttle soon.”

 

* * *

Alex watched the coin tumble through the air, the metal catching the dim light and glinting. Quick as a flash, he reached out and snagged it, slapping it down on the back of his hand. He frowned. Tails again.

Once again, he pocketed the coin he’d been using to amuse himself for the better half of the hour and took in his surroundings.

“Nothing… nothing… and oh, the bust of Napoleon again. Brilliant,” he murmured, shooting the statue a look. The statue, as expected, did not respond. He frowned.

Stalking quietly back to the entrance to room 46, he peered through the door. Looking back at him was portrait after portrait of different biblical figures or military heroes. In the dark, the oil paint made it look like the features of each figure were melting, the shadows muddying his view even further.

He let his gaze lazily travel around the room. His eyes fell upon a piece in the corner, and he made his way over to the canvas, careful to not let his footsteps disturb the old wood of the floor.

The painting contained the heat of a mini inferno. The upper right of the canvas was awash in vivid, intoxicating oranges and ochres, with just a speckling of eggshell blue and midnight for the sky. Alex squinted, struggling to make out the white-hot silhouettes of the proud buildings in the landscape. Unsatisfied, he glanced at the tiny people in the foreground. They were huddled together fearfully, staring in awe at the raging fire burning just across the mirror-still river.

He felt the hairs on the back of his neck prick, and he slowly brought his gaze to the bronze plaque next to the piece.

“Joseph Mallord William Turner,” he breathed, reading the name out. Even at such a soft volume, his voice echoed in the empty room.

 _The Burning of the Houses of Lords and Commons_.

Feeling strangely worried he’d be yelled at despite being the only one in the museum, Alex reached out timidly. He let his fingertips ghost along the ornate, gold frame of the painting, careful to not brush the delicate paint on the canvas.

It wasn’t hard to image parliament wreathed in golden flames in the same manner as Turner had painstakingly depicted in his piece.

Alex drew his hand back as though he’d been burned, thoroughly spooked. He shot one last glance at the painting before turning away to survey the floor once more.

A crack echoed throughout the room, reverberating throughout the halls of the museum. Alex flinched, instinctively moving his hand to his gun holster at his hip.

He couldn’t see _anything._

It was pitch black, and the only light in windowless room 46 was the murky glow of moonlight leaking in from the hall. He forced himself to slow his breath, moving his hand away from his gun and to his flashlight holster. He unclipped it from his belt, flicking the LED light on.

Advancing slowly towards the exit, he hugged the wall. Peering around the corner, Alex pointed his flashlight’s beam down the hall, letting it sweep the length of the upper floor.

He cursed under his breath. Nothing. He flicked the switch off, and he was plunged into the pitch blackness again. The only guide he had to navigate was the moon peeking through the skylight, and he wasn’t sure he could make an accurate shot out in the open. He wasn’t willing to make himself a target by leaving his light on, though.

Suddenly, his ears pricked. It was faint, sure, but he could hear voices nearby. Stealthily, he maneuvered his way back into room 46, crouching in the shadows.

“Ow!”

Alex tensed. He’d definitely heard someone hiss out a cry of pain down the walkway.

“You really should learn to see in the dark,” came another voice, this one louder than the first. Alex frowned, straining his hearing. He couldn’t place the accent. It sounded like a mix of various cadences he’d run into during missions, but none of the inflections he’d become familiar with stood out as a candidate for the intruder’s point of origin.

He heard an angry whisper scolding the other speaker, and although Alex couldn’t make out what this person was saying, he could at least place the accent.

Irish.

Sure, it was an Irish accent tempered by a hint of Oxford, but the speaker was incensed, and Alex could hear the hardening of consonants and the dropping of Gs on the end of verbs even at the low volume at which the intruder was speaking. Alex furrowed his brows. Jones hadn’t mentioned to look out for NSU. This was a dark horse candidate for the first organization to make a move on the gallery, that was for sure, he thought, almost snorting.

“There are _no_ active guards and you killed the security cameras with the blackout, calm down. I could sing karaoke on our way to the cell and we’d still make it out fine,” the unidentifiable voice scoffed. The two continued to bicker, and as they neared room 46, Alex could just about make out what they were saying.

They were here for _whatever_ it was that seemed to be driving the most powerful individuals in the world to stumble over each other to get at the gallery. What’s more, Alex craned his neck to try to peer out into the hall, they seemed to know where to find the object of interest.

A shadow appeared at the door. Alex froze, moving out of the sight of the figure. Whoever it was, he didn’t seem to notice him, instead electing to make his way deeper into room 46. Alex shot a look out the exit to the hallway. The other thief was still somewhere outside.

Creeping along the perimeter of the room, Alex cautiously followed the figure deeper into the exhibit. Reaching for his belt, he felt the coolness of his flashlight.

He paused.

He moved his dominant hand to his gun holster. Pulling his weapon free, he carefully clutched it to his chest as he continued to tail the intruder. He needed to find out more about what he was protecting. Alex took a deep breath. There was enough space between him and the intruder — if push came to shove, he could easily discard his gun and activate the tranquilizer on his flashlight. Regardless of what Blunt had ordered in the file, Alex didn’t plan on being the cause of anyone’s death tonight.

Steeling himself, Alex stepped into the moonlight, pointing his gun at the intruder.

“Don’t move,” Alex said, voice low.

The figure standing across the gallery froze, slowly raising his hands and lacing them behind his head to show he was unarmed. Turning around carefully, he faced Alex. Alex couldn’t see enough to make out the details of the person’s face, but he could sense a strong feeling of intensity emanating off of him. He was studying Alex’s face. Alex tightened his grip on the gun.

“This isn’t your first brush with the law, I take it,” Alex narrowed his eyes, unnerved by the intruder’s aplomb.

Alex saw the glint of white teeth, and the figure stepped into the moonlight. He was slender, with slicked-back dark hair and a tailored suit.

He was grinning. Alex frowned, shifting so his balance was grounded.

“‘Brush’ with the law? Are you saying that because we’re in an art gallery?” the stranger’s tone was light.

“You’re weren’t alone when you came here,” Alex ignored him, tone steely. “I heard a second voice.”

The other boy’s smile shrunk a few molars. “Perhaps I was lonely and trying to entertain myself,” he offered mildly, taking a few more steps forward. Alex gestured for him to stay where he was, and the intruder held up his hands placatingly.

“Bullshit,” Alex snorted. “Not that it really matters. It’s likely he’s already ditched you, dude.”

Artemis looked almost rueful. “You believe in the merit of the axiom, ‘no loyalty amongst thieves’, I gather.”

“Personal experience, I suppose.”

“As a thief?”

Alex blanched, almost lowering his gun. “What? No.”

“It wasn’t an indictment — after all,” Artemis gestured to himself. “I’m hardly in a position to judge.”

Artemis glanced pointedly at Alex’s gun before looking back up at the spy. Artemis quirked a single eyebrow up, and Alex felt his cheeks warm.

“As much as this quaint chit-chat is scintillating, I’d like to expedite things. To be blunt, if I may: do you plan to kill me?” Artemis queried, tapping a finger to his lips inquisitively.

“Not… if I don’t have to,” Alex responded reluctantly, feeling a tad awkward. “I’m going to have to ask you to come with me to make sure you haven’t stolen anything from the room, though.”

At that, Artemis cocked his head. “Are you a private security guard?”

Alex tensed. “I’m not telling you anything.”

“Hm, that’s a no, then. M16?” Artemis ventured, his eyes lighting up when Alex seemed to wince. “ _Interesting._ ”

“Please shut up,” Alex groaned, finally lowering his gun to his hip. “If you don’t put up a fight, this will be less painful for the both of us. I don’t want to risk damaging whatever you’ve nicked, and you probably don’t want an ass kicking.”

“Do I get to at least talk to the ‘good cop’, or do you not do that bit anymore?” Artemis didn’t seem fazed.

“I’m walking over to cuff you now,” Alex warned, stepping forward. He reached slowly for the flashlight, trying not to spook the other boy. If he could get this would-be thief back to Blunt without any hiccups, he’d be able to pat himself on the back for completing the mission without any ‘surprises’ for the first time.

Alex froze. Artemis glanced at him quizzically, moving slightly to look around him.

He’d heard the distinct sound of the creaking floorboards. It wasn’t the usual moaning and creaking that came part and parcel with the museum being an artifact unto itself, but rather it was the staccato sound of someone putting just _a bit_ too much force on the wrong floorboard and hurrying to shift their weight.

Alex shot Artemis a look and gestured for him to stay quiet. “Yours?” he mouthed. Artemis shook his head, brow furrowed. Alex screwed his eyes shut, taking in a deep breath.

Nice job, Rider, he rubbed his temples. You should never count your blessings until you’re riding back to dispatch.

Sighing, he motioned for Artemis to move closer. Artemis shook his head. Alex glared at him, pointing to the spot next to him in the corner of the gallery. Artemis huffed quietly, staying where he was.

Alex shot a glance at the door to room 46, carefully creeping to where Artemis was standing.

“I take it they’re not yours, either,” Artemis murmured under his breath, and Alex rolled his eyes.

The voices came closer. Pressing himself up against the wall, Alex swallowed. Hard.

Wracking his brain, he tried to recall the exact wording of the case file Mrs. Jones had handed him. SCORPIA hadn’t been in it, he was sure of that. All the same, his trigger finger itched.

Pulling his gun close up to his chest, he glanced at Artemis. He’d gone very still, and Alex wasn’t sure he could even make out the rise and fall of his breathing.

Gnawing at his bottom lip, he reached over to tap Artemis gently. The only indication Artemis gave that he’d felt the disturbance was the fact he leaned slightly closer to Alex. Good enough, Alex sighed internally.

“Get behind me,” he ordered, keeping his volume low. Artemis shot him a withering look, making a face.

Alex tried again. “Out of the two of us, I’m the only one with a weapon,” he whispered, raising his gun slightly. Artemis smirked, and Alex was struck by the growing realization that there was a very _low_ chance that the thief he’d met a mere moment ago was wholly unarmed. Oh well — better the devil you know, he thought grimly, moving farther away from the door that left them exposed to the hall.

Opening his mouth to try again, Alex was cut off by the sight of an armed man stepping into view of the doorway of room 46.

Quickly, Alex appraised him, trying to find any garb that could identify the man as belonging to one organization or another. He grimaced. No such luck.

The man entered the gallery, moving as though he had all the time in the world. Alex watched him, following his movements with his eyes.

The man was tall and broad, with prominent cheekbones and chestnut hair that had been buzzed close to his scalp. He wore a military-style jacket, awash in pockets that held the implication of unknown curios Alex would prefer to remain ignorant of.

He was looking at J.M.W. Turner painting in the corner.

Alex watched him, carefully putting his gun back in his holster. He traded it for the flashlight, testing its weight in his hand, and he stalked towards the man in the corner of the room. Depressing the button on the bottom so that the needle protruded, Alex moved closer and closer, moving in the darkest part of the shadows alongside the wall.

Finally close enough, he struck. He lunged, and the man barely had enough time to react to the shifting air behind him before he was slumping to the ground, his descent softened by Alex helping to lower him to the ground quietly.

Forcing himself not to breathe heavily, Alex felt his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He exhaled, moving to turn to face Artemis when he heard a familiar _click_.

Raising his hands, Alex allowed the flashlight to tumble from his grip. He didn’t have to turn around to know that the man’s partner had walked in and seen Alex dispatching the (currently snoring) first thief.

“Oh, is that little Alex Rider I see?” Alex heard a low chuckle behind him, and he frowned, trying to place the voice.

“I’ve heard a great many things about you, boy,” the disembodied voice behind continued. “You’ve been a thorn in the side of my boss for quite some time.”

Alex grit his teeth. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that.”

The man behind him laughed. “Oh, you’re funny,” he remarked, the creaking of his footsteps echoing as he moved closer. “But I’m afraid you’re about to be dead.”

Behind Alex, the dull crack of something small and metallic hitting the floor sounded.

“Shit,” he heard the voice behind him hiss. “Is that a bomb?”

Alex tensed, screwing his eyes shut.

Even with his eyes shut, he could sense the room was flooded with light. A blinding white light lit up the room, flashing arrhythmically, and the man yelped and staggered in place, finally crashing to the ground as though inebriated.  

Alex waited for a brief sensation of pain, or the deafening sound of an explosion to follow the light show, but it never came. Slowly, Alex turned around. The light had ruined what acclimation he had to the darkness, and he blinked spots from his eyes as he surveyed the damage. 

Everything in the gallery was as it had been before he’d gotten cornered, save for the passed out man lying about ten feet from where Alex was standing.

Alex stared, not quite believing what he was seeing.

“It’s good that you’d shut your eyes,” Artemis began, and Alex jumped despite himself. “Otherwise, my device would have knocked you out cold as well.”

“Christ, you’re still here?” Alex clutched his chest. “I thought you’d have ducked out— never mind, don’t need to know,” Alex waved a hand dismissively as Artemis opened his mouth in indignation.

“Aside from the fact I still need to retrieve a very important item from this gallery, I wasn’t just going to leave someone to _die_. Granted, if I had believed for a second his intention was to merely subdue you, please trust that I would have disappeared in the commotion,” Artemis contended, holding his right hand up as though giving a mock testimony during a trial.

Alex slumped, suddenly exhausted. It was possible he’d misjudged the other boy. Alex wasn’t exactly giddy to be working for M16 — it was likely they were both pawns in a greater game played by their superiors, both of them not _quite_ cannon fodder, but not valuable enough to move away from the front lines, either.

“Besides,” Artemis continued a tad slyly. Alex felt his earlier hopes sink. “You’re not just a nameless face anymore, are you, Alex Rider?”

Alex exhaled loudly. “If you’re going to blackmail me, just get on with it. I don’t need any pleasantries leading up to the spiel.”

Artemis waved a hand dismissively. “I’m not interested in blackmailing you right now, Alex. You’ve interested me, that’s all. You’re remarkably independent for a cog in M16’s machine.”

“Are you trying to rub it in my face how much you’ve found out about me in the span of an hour?”

Artemis smirked, concealing his smile behind his hand. “It’s certainly possible.”

Despite it all, Alex grinned. “It’s going to be a pain to drag these two down to the pick-up van.”

“I’ve already saved your life. I’m not offering you my physical labor as well,” Artemis said airily, stepping over the man by the light bomb. He continued to move into the gallery, stopping by the man Alex had knocked out. Reaching for the painting that had so captivated Alex earlier, Artemis paused as he felt the weight of the frame.

He looked over his shoulder at Alex. “Do you mind…?”

Alex strode to meet him, lifting the painting off its hook in the wall before looking back at Artemis.

“Just set it down on the ground, if you’d please. Gently! It’s fragile,” Artemis chided him, but finally, the piece made its way to the floor safely. 

Artemis reached into his coat, pulling out a small pocket knife. Carefully, he unscrewed the backing of the frame, revealing the brown paper that protected the back of the piece. Cutting with almost a surgeon’s precision so as not to damage the painting itself, Artemis opened the paper, peeling it back to look. His eyes lit up, and he reached tentatively into the opening he’d created to pull out a small, flat disc that appeared to be made from some precious stone. Opal, maybe, Alex wagered, admiring the way the milky white of the stone created faint rainbow shadows under the moonlight.

“It’s—“

“Wow,” Alex breathed, interrupting whatever Artemis was going to say. “Do you mind if I hold it?”

Artemis blanched. “Are you aware of what this thing is capable of?”

“I know it’s dangerous. But it’s also kind of... nice looking, you know?” Alex faltered, kneeling to join Artemis on the floor next to the painting. Artemis looked at him calculatingly, the deep blues of his eyes impenetrable as he regarded Alex thoughtfully.  

“Alright. But I will not permit you to take this to M16, understand?” he cautioned, gesturing for Alex to hold his hands out. Alex crossed his hands, creating a small cradle. Tentatively, Artemis laid the stone in Alex’s hands.

Alex felt the warmth of Artemis’ hands brush his own for a moment, and then he was holding the stone in his palms. He rubbed the smooth, cool surface of the disc, marveling at it. It was funny, he thought, he’d been half expecting Artemis’ touch to be almost cool, like the stone.

“You’re staring,” Alex remarked, his gaze never leaving the stone. He heard Artemis splutter, and he grinned.

“I’m doing no such thing,” Artemis responded coolly.

Alex looked up, pressing the stone back into Artemis’ hands. “I could see your reflection in it,” he explained. Artemis seemed to be at a loss for words, his grip curling tighter around the stone.

“As much as I enjoyed meeting you,” Artemis said after some thought. “I do think it’s about time for me to take my leave.”

Alex nodded, rising. He offered a hand to Artemis, and Artemis took it. The night was beginning to fade into the dawn, and the light cast down through the skylight was beginning to take on a warmer hue.

Despite the fact he’d no doubt get chewed out by Blunt, he was going to let the other teen keep the stone. He was certainly clever enough to keep the damn thing from falling into anyone else’s hands, Alex wagered. Sometimes clever was what was most important; he was well aware that no one playing the game in which he was entangled was the ‘good guy’ — he wasn’t even sure of where he himself fell at the end of day. Blunt and this thief were equally unlikely to use the device — but Alex was willing to bet that this stranger was more likely to keep the stone in his possession.

“I’m letting you leave with the stone,” Alex announced. Artemis grinned. “But I can’t give you it pro bono.”

At that, Artemis knit his brows. “I see. Well, I suppose in light of the fact I just saved your life, I’d reckon we can call things even.”

“Or,” Alex shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to feign nonchalance. “You could tell me your name and we could call it even.”

Artemis narrowed his eyes, searching Alex’s face for hints of guile. “Artemis.”

Alex scrunched up his face in confusion. “What?”

“You wanted my name. It’s Artemis,” he said, sticking his chin out as if daring Alex to say something.

“Cool,” Alex breathed, flushing after he realized what he said.

“Cool?” His response seemed to have surprised Artemis, as the belligerence seemed to have visibly faded from his stance.

“Er, your name is cool. Suits you, to be honest.”

Artemis regarded him, tilting his head. “How so?”

Shifting his weight, Alex shrugged. “She was the goddess of the hunt, right? You strike me as similarly enjoying a challenge.”

For a moment, Alex was unsure of if he’d offended Artemis.

Artemis gave him a smile, and Alex responded with a grin of his own.

“Oh. Thank you, I suppose,” Artemis nodded.

“You’re welcome,” Alex rubbed the nape of his neck awkwardly.

“That said, I believe that this is where we must part ways,” Artemis finally said, and Alex frowned.

“Yeah,” Alex admitted, hanging his head slightly.

It seemed as though Artemis was going to say something, but he merely began to make his way for the stairwell, beginning his descent to the bottom level.

Alex was about to call out his goodbye when Artemis paused, his hand poised on the guardrail.  Turning slightly, Artemis looked pointedly at Alex.

“It’s a pity it’d break my parents’ hearts if I brought home a British boy, Rider. I’ll be seeing you around, I hope.”

And at that, he turned back around, descending before Alex could even begin to process his comment.

Alex was alone again in the museum, and the only sign that he’d ever been joined by someone else was the groaning agents on the ground.

He looked up at the skylight, watching the bruised purple of the sky lighten.

Grinning, he whooped, looking back around the gallery. Artemis, huh. Alex would be seeing him again, that was for sure.

 

* * *

Mulch Diggums sighed, turning around to face Artemis as he entered the shuttle. “Frond, I had just made peace with the fact I was going to have to explain to your bodyguard that I’d lost you on the mission. It’s almost daybreak, Artemis! If I have to deal with skin cancer in the prime of my life, I’m billing you, Arty.”

“I’m flattered you’re so concerned for my health, Mulch,” Artemis remarked. “One would almost assume you didn’t care based on how quickly you ducked out of the gallery.”

Mulch snorted derisively. “Don’t take it personally. No magic, remember — I can’t go invisible if things go south like Short can.”

“ _Ah_. You didn’t want to risk revealing the big secret of the people, I see — truly, you’re noble as ever, Mulch,” Artemis teased. Mulch spluttered at that, but the Irish teenager merely smiled, a tad smug. Mulch huffed, turning back around.

“I picked up the power cell,” Artemis remarked, reaching to buckle himself into the chair.

“I know, I know,” Mulch shot back, waving a hand before moving to punch some buttons on the dashboard. “You left your comm on, Artemis. The cell was one of the last things you were thinking about during that mission. Getting friendly with the British government, are we?”

The shuttle hummed in response, its engine whirring. Gnommish lettering flickered onto his driver’s screen, and he felt the warmth of the artificial blue light on his cheeks. Artemis leaned forward, peering around the divider that separated the driver and the passengers.

“It looks like your earlier assertion that I ‘don’t have any game’ was incorrect,” Artemis continued, and the dwarf rolled his eyes.

“The spy doesn’t count towards that,” Mulch argued, finally putting the shuttle into drive. “I meant with normal humans your age. We can reassess what I said about you suffering from being a terminal egghead when you get the number of some _ordinary_ boy or girl.”

At that, Artemis chuckled. “Alright, Diggums.”

The shuttle pulled out from the alley, picking up altitude as it shot through the night. London was a series of twinkling bright lights below the ship, and Mulch found himself relaxing as they crawled higher and higher above the city. Drumming his calloused fingers on the steering wheel, he reached over to flip the switch on the streaming component of the dash. Punching in a few commands, Mulch let out a toothy grin as the staticky sound of the radio came in. The humans on the channel were chattering away about the alarms that had gone off at the British Museum. It had been so long since he’d pulled off a good, clean heist. It felt good to be back.

Soon, the talking heads on the radio faded out, and music filtered in over the channel.

Artemis continued tapping away on his phone in the back of the shuttle. “You’re keeping the radio on?”

Mulch leaned back, his chair groaning as he did. “Might as well, considering how damn quiet the ship is,” he shrugged, shooting Artemis a toothy grin. “Foaly might have his own stance, but I don’t mind your folks’ music.”

Artemis snorted. “Would I be wasting my time if I were to explain to you why grouping all of human music together is a _tad_ of a generalization?”

Mulch stroked his beard, pretending to mull it over. “Yup. Major waste of time.”

“Fantastic, that is.”

Mulch could hear the smile in Artemis’ voice. Diggums grinned.

“Have you told the old man about your new favorite member of M16?”

Sighing, Artemis shifted in his seat. “The allegiance with the British government that Rider has truly is _unfortunate_.”

“Why, because that means he has access to a veritable shit ton of information on you, and that any available information on him has been so scrubbed from the web that even you will have trouble finding it?”

“Maybe. And to answer your earlier question, yes, I’ve told Domovoi. You _were_ making an age joke about my bodyguard, yes?”

Chortling, Mulch slapped the steering wheel. “You know what they say, Arty. Age jokes never get old.”

“Charming as ever, Mulch.”

“I do try.”

“Try being the operative word, I presume,” Artemis muttered, reaching for his phone once more.

“Oh, Artemis,” Mulch sighed, wiping an imaginary tear of mirth from the corner of his eye. “This Rider bloke will be good for you. Even if he might not be normal, he’s at least nice. You need a little more ‘nice’ in your life, I think.”

“Thank you for the love life advice, Mulch,” Artemis droned, tapping at his cell’s screen. “I’d be lost without your guidance like a small ship on the turbulent sea of adolescent fancy.”

“Please just promise me one thing, Artemis.”

“Mhm?”

“Go to Juliet for advice on this one instead of Butler. Your bodyguard is a good, good man, but _Titanic_ came out in 1997. His cultural touchstone for what romance looks like for young adults is a bit dated at this point.”

In the dark, Artemis frowned. “People still think Jack Dawson has a sort of rakish appeal, I’d reckon.”

Mulch groaned. “You’re too far gone,” he looked out at the glittering stars speckled throughout the midnight blue of the early morning sky. “You’ll just have to hope that Rider is as uncool as you are.”

“Oh, I’m afraid that he’s very ‘cool’,” Artemis cracked a small smile, the lines at the edge of his eyes softening.

Mulch pressed a few buttons on the dash, breathing a sigh of relief when the autopilot came on. Turning to face Artemis, Mulch looked the teen in the eyes. “Try to get some rest, Artemis. We’ll be back at the fairy mound in an hour or so. You did good tonight, kid.”

Meeting his gaze, Artemis nodded. “Thank you, Mulch. I’ll, erm, consider what you said about Alex.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, with the only sound in the ship coming from the droning of the radio at the front. The warbling voice of some older British rocker played as the sun peeked over the buildings. Soon, people all around England would begin to rise and bring the country back to life. Dawn was breaking.

It was a new day.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm 100% aware that it's around 1 a.m. in my time zone but! sometimes you've gotta write something that has nothing to do with your calculus homework.


End file.
